Three Time Loser
by Rose G
Summary: Mickey's thoughts on why Meadows forced him out to Barton Street just after the fire - and some words that can never be unsaid to the man he thought was a friend.


Three Time Loser

Rose G

Disclaimer – None of these characters are mine, nor am I making money from their use. 'Three Time Loser' belongs to Rod Stewart and The Faces.

A/ N – I wrote this a couple of years ago, just found it tucked in with some old schoolbooks. Having nothing better to do, I've decided to post it. Therefore, the writing style is quite different to what I write now, as I couldn't be bothered to change any of it.

**Three Time Loser**

_I'm a three time loser.  
Roll away, roll away, all of you women;  
I don't think I need you anymore.  
There'll be no more doctor's bills,  
there'll be no more swallowing pills.  
And I've found a woman  
that can witness that in blood out of me. _

_I'm a three time loser_

_And my friends aren't here to stay._  
Rod Stewart and The Faces, Three Time Loser

Mickey Webb staggered home; staggered because the tears in his eyes were blinding him. He couldn't accept it, couldn't believe it. An emotion that he'd never admit to feeling swept over him – apprehension or fear, almost terror at what was happening to him. He had to leave Sun Hill. Leave. Never go back there. Never sit in the general office, never joke with the girls there; never work with the DCI again. Never

Once he got in, he drank. Drank grimly, like a man bent on reducing himself to unconsciousness, heedless of the fact that he had to work tomorrow, because work meant Barton Street now, not Sun Hill. He wasn't ready to leave Sun Hill, to leave Kate's ghost behind, to leave the one place on earth where he had been safe after the incident at Dagenham which had brought his world crashing down. He admitted privately that he wasn't ready to leave Meadows; still felt that the older man could protect him. Yet Meadows had forced him out…

Anger burnt in him, hatred tempered by adoration for Meadows, loathing for Chandler who had claimed Kate's final hours, a loathing that he didn't feel could be resolved by anything less than Chandler's death. He'd drank too much, too fast, his thoughts were whirling now.

Meadows, Chandler. Kate – Kate in his arms, kissing him, the pair of them dancing in the disco. His mother crying, football crowds screaming. Things that had happened, hopes and fears, dreams he'd never acknowledged. His dad towering over him. Snow and blood and silver. Beyond it all, Meadows. Trust and betrayal, love and lust, Kate, Meadows.

He made a conscious effort to grasp pen and paper, sloshing lager over the floor where it run over a pile of unwashed football kit and a half eaten pizza discarded in it's box. He grasped the pen unsteadily, his writing which was never neat becoming almost illegible as he gulped down the rest of the can's contents.

_DCI Meadows,_

_I wish I had the guts to send this to you. I know that I won't; you've made so damn sure that I won't. I'd come and see you, tell you what I thought of you, expect that I wouldn't trust myself not to hit you, and I've got so much trouble now that I don't need that as well. I don't know what you were doing, I don't know what I ever did to you to deserve this. Did you think that I was going to tell Chandler about what we were doing? I'd never betray you like that – I was part of it too._

_I hate you Meadows. No, that's wrong. I don't hate you and I don't pity you. You've had everything that I've ever wanted. I'm scared of you, I guess. I could have betrayed you to Chandler, but I didn't and now you've betrayed me. And I don't know what I did wrong, to you._

The knock at the door made his head throb; as he walked to answer it he was aware of tears scalding his face. The metallically grinding of the key in the lock told him who it was; only two people had keys to his flat and one was dead. Leaning against the wall, he tried to make his voice hard. 'Go away, Meadows.' The plywood door was opened, only for Mickey to try to slam it shut.

The DCI, stronger and sober, held it open. 'I am going to talk to you, DC Webb, so I either come in and sit down, or shout through the door.' He walked in and sat down before Mickey could reply. He ignored the mess, but skim read the scribbled letter that was on the arm of the chair. Pity flooded across his eyes.

Mickey stood uneasily, shifting his weight and cracking his muscles. 'I don't know why you've 'ere, Guv, but there's nothing I want to say to you. I trusted you, and you sold me up the river. I don't want you to be here.'

'Listen to me.' The Dalesman's voice was soft, affectionate.

'No. You ain't my guv'nor anymore. And you were a poxy guv anyway.' He regretted that lie, flung it at Meadows regardless.

'You listen, Mickey. I had to get you out of Sun Hill – Chandler would have forced you out, else. I know you didn't want to go, but isn't it better that I got you a transfer rather than you getting forced out by him?'

Mickey sat down suddenly, legs drawn up in front of his chest. 'You only let me go because you knew too much about me. You don't trust me anymore. Otherwise you would have stood up for me.'

Meadows sprang to his feet, walked over to the younger man. 'I do trust you, even though that's not exactly returned, is it?'

Mickey lunged to his feet and stepped backwards. 'I don't trust you, Meadows. How could I trust you? Trust anyone?' Unconsciously, he moved one hand to touch the scar on his torso, wincing with remembered pain. The scaly, starched surface of the old wound filled him with disgust. He stared at Meadows with hate filled eyes.

'Some-one I should have trusted meant that I never had a family, and my Mum got hurt. These scars are because of someone like you, some-one I trusted. I loved Kate, and she died because of that bastard you sold me out to. And now, I've lost Sun Hill and Eva and Danny, because I trusted you to look after me. You still wan' me to trust you?'

The DCI shook his head, knew that too many people had betrayed Mickey's trust in the past for him to forgive Meadows. Helplessly, he looked at the younger man, stretched one hand out to him.

_I never thought you'd sell me out like this_, Mickey thought_. Not really. But I had Kate and my Mum and Sun Hill, and I lost all that because I trusted people. I hate you, Meadows. And I'm scared of you. _He realised he'd spoke the last two sentences aloud.

Two sets of blue eyes met, pointlessly. Meadows shook his head and walked out of the flat, stepping high over the piles of rubbish and cloths on the floor. Mickey stabbed out the light switch and hurried, stumbling, to the bathroom, vomiting up his guts.

The darkness outside the flat became as intense as the darkness inside. Outside, the mournful dirge of a greyhound at the track could be heard, the sing-song of traffic and taxis, the soft, zephyr born voices of the street girls and dossers. Inside, Mickey lay on his bed, face buried in a blanket with no-one to hear his racking sobs. Meadows walked through the mist, alone in a stretch of a dank market street where his footsteps echoed off grey terraced houses whose windows were islands of light in the murk. No-one heard his whispered apology. 'Sorry, Mickey. I'm sorry.'


End file.
